


dichotomous

by newmoons



Category: The Twilight Saga, Twilight (Movies), Twilight Saga, Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/F, Twilight Renaissance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 07:22:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newmoons/pseuds/newmoons
Summary: but she often did not exist in-between these extremes.





	dichotomous

i touched the bookcase, trailing my fingertips over the spine of each novel as i passed. and i tried to remember.

i tried to remember. there was so much i couldn’t recall, why couldn’t i grasp just a little of it? just like these books, i wandered on only a title, a barely piecing together, surrounded by words, sounds, sentences i couldn’t understand.

i moved to the typewriter, hovering on a few of the keys with a small smile. maybe once i had used one of these, my fingertips clacking out a story.

maybe.

i would never know. if it were only possible that i could sleep; maybe i have held these fragmented pieces of maybe-memories somewhere in my subconscious.

but i couldn’t recall, and the only downfall to this half existence of mine was the fact that i could not remember; of all the traits that made me this figment of grandiose and glory, i would never have the memory of my former life. the one thing i so wished upon, evading me forever.

i could yet remember each moment of this life in clear detail. too much, at times. anger and sadness were looming mountains i stood at, in waiting for the fall, crushing this still heart. i often thought an ocean lay siege to my chest, drowning me in sorrow that only lifted from me on the brightest of days.

i wondered if rosalie felt the same. was happiness something she could wonder upon, or did it choke in her chest with tears in her eyes?

it was so hard to understand humans at times; they laughed until they cried and who ever said this was not a sadness?

it hurt to imagine rosalie with any sadness. she reminded me of the gentle keepsake of her name: a rose in winter.

there was something beautiful about a rose in winter.

they existed concealed under a blanket of white snow, dripping in spring time as they would bloom from the cold. either that, or they would stand in full contrast, red against the absence of all color.

and either she existed, and she was undeniable, captivating, all-encompassing, or she was silent, and her absence was a wound in the air, a gap of space you could feel.

but she often did not exist in-between these extremes.

an angel had no business being so far from dichotomous, of course.

and what do i say to an angel?


End file.
